


Breathe In (And Out)

by mochiboom



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Athsma, I'm sorry Choutarou, M/M, Mukahi's a little shit, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Whump, but this is what happens when you ignore the symptoms, nothing new there, oh Shishido you're so awkward it's laughable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochiboom/pseuds/mochiboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choutarou has asthma. Shishido isn't sure what to think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe In (And Out)

**Author's Note:**

> I realise I refer to everyone except Jirou by their surname. My only defence is that typing out Akutagawa can be a bit wearing. But other than that I have no excuse (I'm not really sorry about it).
> 
> Warning for vivid description of an asthma attack.
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, I do not make any claim to Prince of Tennis/テニスの王子様, I'm only playing in Konomi's sandpit.

Choutarou was always something of a sickly child. Initially a colicky baby, the persistent cough worsened throughout his early years until one night his mother found him writhing in his cot, face bordering on purple and mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish on dry land.

 

It took months of rehabilitation and hospital appointments until the doctors considered him well enough to live without the constant presence of an oxygen tank wherever he went. He was diagnosed with severe asthma, his mother given a selection of inhalers and he was given regular, scheduled appointments every six months until he turned seven.

 

Thankfully, as he grew up, the severity of his asthma gradually began to decrease. By the time he entered Junior High, he hadn’t had an attack in over seven months, despite playing tennis every other day at the club just down the road from him. Unfortunately nothing prepared him for the intensity of Hyoutei Gakuen’s training.

 

In hindsight, he should have noticed something was wrong the moment a cough got stuck in his throat at breakfast. But he was running late, his mother was already at work and so he passed it off as an anomaly. If his chest ached a little bit as he ran to the bus stop, well then he must’ve pulled an intercostal muscle in yesterday’s training.

 

As the bus dropped him off outside the school gates, he spotted a familiar blue cap making its way up the pavement towards him. He leant against one of the pillars which marked the entrance to Hyoutei, rubbing his chest. _It still hurt_ , he thought uneasily. _Maybe I should go to the nurse._

However any and all thoughts of seeing the school nurse were promptly quashed when Shishido clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “Looking forward to playing that damn Mukahi today?” He asked, sunnily, adjusting his bag on one shoulder.

 

“Y-yeah,” Choutarou smiled back hesitantly, quickly dropping his hand from his chest and stuffing it into the pocket of his jersey. _I can’t worry Shishido-san,_ he thought to himself, glumly. They walked towards the courts together, Choutarou content to listen to his partner chatter away how just exactly he was going to crush Mukahi and Oshitari this morning.

 

Shishido stopped him with a hand on his elbow just shy of the courts.

“Are you okay, Choutarou? You’ve been really quiet this morning. Are you sick?” He reached up to put a hand on Choutarou’s forehead, frowning as Choutarou shied away from his touch.

 

“I’m fine, Shishido-san,” Choutarou insisted. “I’m just tired; there’s building work going on near our house and it woke me up early this morning, that’s all.” He felt bad even as the lie came to him easily, but it wouldn’t do to worry Shishido-san over something that was likely nothing. He did subtly check that his inhaler was in the outside pocket of his bag as they knelt to remove their racquets.  _I doubt I’ll need it_ , he reasoned, _but it’s better to be on the safe side._

He ambled over to where Mukahi and Shishido were sniping at each other, catching Oshitari’s eye with a long-suffering smile. Once Atobe finished swanning around and took his usual spot on the coach’s bench, they got underway. Choutarou’s heart sank just a tiny bit when Atobe announced he was to be serving first, as his Scud Serve needed some final polishing before the ranking matches in a few weeks time.

 

He took a deep breath at the base line, winching as his chest twinged and threw the ball high into the air. As soon as he bent back to serve a jolt of stabbing pain shot through his rib and up his right arm. With a cry he bent double, racquet falling to the ground with a clatter. Behind him the ball bounced away, bumping against the fence. Shishido ran over, putting a hand on Choutarou’s back as he skidded to a stop beside him.

 

“Oy!” He said, urgently. “What’s the matter? Do you need to see the nurse?” His voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of panic running beneath it and Choutarou mentally scolded himself for making him worry.

 

“N-no,” He replied, cautiously straightening up, absently rubbing his sternum, “I’m fine, I think I pulled a muscle, or something the other day.” He smiled a Shishido, bending to pick up his racquet. “I’m fine, honestly, Shishido-san, sorry for making you worry.” Shishido didn’t look happy in the slightest.

 

“Okay,” He said slowly. “If you’re sure you’re alright…” He jogged over to retrieve the ball, and when he pressed it into Choutarou’s hand he looked up at him fiercely. “Don’t push yourself too hard, alright? If something’s wrong, I’d rather you tell me than hide it so I don’t worry.” He flicked Choutarou on the forehead. “I know what you’re like.”

 

“Y-yes!” Choutarou flushed, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Shishido grinned, waved an assent at Atobe and returned to his spot at the net. This time, when Choutaru threw the ball, it still ached, but the pain was almost gone. _Nothing to worry about, after all_. He thought to himself and he smashed the ball pashed Mukahi, quietly enjoying the look of barely-contained surprise on his face.

 

As the match went on, Choutarou forgot all about the pain in his chest, slipping seamlessly into the harmony he and Shishido shared on the court. While they were pretty evenly matched against Mukahi and Oshitari, gradually, the two of them began to gain a lead. Though Mukahi had been working on his stamina, he wasn’t quite there yet, and his reaction time began to decrease as they went into a tiebreak.

 

They paused to get a drink, Shishido burying his face in a towel while Mukahi flung himself onto the bench, helping himself to his partner’s drinks bottle. Choutarou thought about taking a puff from his preventation inhaler, but remembered belatedly that nobody save Atobe and the coach actually knew about his asthma, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. After a childhood of being mollycoddled by his parents, Choutarou didn’t want his friends and partner treating him as if he were suddenly made of glass. He put his jersey back on instead in an attempt to keep the cold off his chest.

 

But while the break seemed to have rejuvenated Mukahi, it had done the exact opposite for Choutarou. He quickly became tired and out of breath; trying to stop himself from breathing so shortly merely had the opposite effect. His hands started to shake and panic began to creep up on him. He barely had it in him to lunge for Mukahi’s drop volley; while he made it, he fell heavily to the floor and once down, he found he didn’t have the strength in his limbs to lift himself back up again.

 

_No, no no!_ He thought to himself desperately. _It’s been so long since the last attack I-_ He heard a shout from his left and suddenly Atobe was kneeling over him, his hands firm as he pushed Choutarou over onto his back. The action caused his chest to spasm and he wheezed out a sob, his chest heaving under Atobe’s hands.

“Fetch the nurse!” Atobe barked to Kabaji, who immediately sprinted away towards to school. He turned back to Choutarou. “Do you have your inhaler?” He demanded and Choutarou, unable to speak, barely managed a nod.

 

“Shishido!” Atobe shouted. “Stop standing there gormless and get his inhaler. It should be in his bag somewhere.” When Shishido remained rooted to the spot , eyes wide with horror as he stared at Choutarou, Atobe snapped. “It’s an asthma attack, you imbecile! He’ll be fine, but you _need to get his inhaler_ , or he _won’t be._ ” That seemed to snap Shishido out of it and he bolted over to the benches, rifling through Choutarou’s bag.

 

Atobe returned his attention to Choutarou; his breathing seemed to be getting more and more difficult; his exhales sounding more like the last throes of a dying man. “Mukahi!” He snapped. “Help me sit him up; it’ll only get worse if he stays lying down.” Mukahi nodded shakily, handed his racquet to Oshitari and vaulted over the net. Together, they managed to ease Choutarou into a sitting position, just as Shishido returned, holding as blue inhaler in his hand.

 

“Give it to me.” Atobe commanded, pressing it into Choutarou’s hand. “You need to use your inhaler, Ohtori.” Choutarou nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he shook the inhaler as hard as he could and heaved in a lungful of medication. He slumped forwards, the tightness around his eyes easing and Shishido dropped to his knees beside Atobe, his face white and pinched with worry.

 

As if on cue, the nurse appeared, Atobe got to his feet and Shishido immediately took his place. Choutarou forced his eyes open and looked up at him, blinking hard. “’M sorry, Shishido-san.” He mumbled, head lolling to one side, breath wheezing out from his lips. It was a horrible sound, like nothing Shishido had ever heard before. “Should’ve told you…” He trailed off, closing his eyes again. Shishido swallowed thickly, moving to the side to let the nurse press her fingers to Choutarou’s jugular. He watched, numb, heart pounding in his chest as she spoke quietly to Choutarou, encouraging him to use his inhaler again.

 

Mukahi stood up on shaky legs, face pale. He didn’t shake off Oshitari’s arm around his shoulders like he usually did, which spoke volumes about how worried he was. He didn’t protest when Oshitari led him away; Shishido noticed with a start that Mukahi’s hands were shaking like leaves in a storm. After a few minutes, the nurse stood up and Atobe walked over to her, but Shishido hardly heard them.

 

Choutarou looked better; the wheezing had stopped and he was sitting up on his own, but his face was still pale and his still clutched his inhaler like a lifeline. He didn’t look up as Shishido sat down next to him, but didn’t object when Shishido hesitantly put a hand on his knee, either. Shishido tried to speak, but his words got stuck in his throat and so the two of them sat together in silence until the nurse returned.

 

“Well, it was touch and go for a while there, Ohtori-kun.” She said, not unkindly. “You won’t need an ambulance but I’d like for you to go the hospital anyway just as a precaution.” Choutarou nodded slowly, knuckles bleeding white as he clenched his hands around his inhaler. “Atobe-kun sent for a car; it’ll be here soon.” She moved to his other side, nodding to Shishido. “Help me stand him up.” Slowly; Choutarou’s legs shook like a baby deer’s, the three of them stood up. By the end of it, Choutarou’s lips were pressed together into a tight line and he had a fistful of Shishido’s jersey in one hand.

 

“Very good, Ohtori-kun.” The nurse said. “I’m going to go to the gates to meet the car, and get it to come to the courts. Will you two be alright for a few minutes?” She directed the question more at Shishido, who nodded stiffly. She ran off in the direction of the entrance to the courts, stopping briefly to retrieve her first aid kit. It was only suddenly that Choutarou seemed to notice the eyes of the club members on him and he shrank away in embarrassment, eyes fixed on the pavement.

 

Atobe raised his voice. “Alright, that’s enough looking. Clear up; we’re finishing early today. First years, make sure you don’t miss any balls. See you all this afternoon.” His voice carried across the courts and immediately the rest of the players sprang into action. Choutarou still didn’t look up, but Shishido felt him relax infinitesimally against him.

 

Much to Shishido’s annoyance, both the nurse and Atobe point-blank refused to let him go to the hospital with Choutarou. “His mother’s on her way, and besides, you’re underage and a non-relation. All you’d be doing is sting in the waiting room being angry there.” Atobe reasoned as Shishido scowled. “I know you’re worried about him, but at least wait until you’ve cooled off before you say something we both know you’ll regret later.” Shishido remained silent, hands clenched into fists at his sides as one of Atobe’s fleet pulled away smoothly from the kerb.    

 

“I just don’t understand why he never told me.” He said at last as the car vanished around a corner. Atobe sighed.

 

“I’m sure he has his reason, Shishido.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now come on, get changed and we can go and see him.” He motioned to Kabaji who stood nearby and walked off towards the clubhouse. It took Shishido a good five minutes before he could bring himself to follow him.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Choutarou’s mother rang Shishido herself just as he got out the shower. His heart lurched wildly as he answered his phone, panic evident in his voice. Atobe watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye, turning back to his locker as relief spread over Shishido’s face.

 

“Choutarou’s fine.” Shishido said, just loudly enough for the rest of the regulars to hear. “They’re keeping him in overnight for some tests but-” He broke off abruptly, swallowing hard. “He’ll be fine.” His voice broke on the last syllable and Atobe smiled to himself, bending down to shake Jirou awake from where he lay on the bench.

 

“M’mm, how’s Ohtori-kun?” Jirou asked blearily, blinking up at Atobe. His t-shirt rode up as he stretched and Atobe very deliberately did not look at the exposed skin of his stomach. Jirou grinned up at him.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Atobe replied, shrugging on his blazer, smoothing down the fabric of the lapels. Behind him, Shishido was vigorously towelling his hair dry, his unbuttoned shirt gaping. “Cretin.” Atobe sniffed, absently checking his hair in the mirror attached to his locker door.

 

“Aw, come on Atobe.” Jirou sat up, grabbing his blazer from its place as a makeshift pillow and pulling it on. “He’s worried. Wouldn’t you be, if it was me?” He blinked sweetly up at Atobe, who scowled and looked away.

 

“Don’t even _joke_ about that, Jirou.” He muttered.

 

“Oh _gag me_ , Yuushi.” Mukahi groaned dramatically as he walked past.

 

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Oshitari replied, smiling benignly behind his glasses. Jirou gagged and Hiyoshi rolled his eyes.

 

The atmosphere in the clubhouse had lightened considerably with the news of Choutarou’s recovery; Shishido no longer walked as it he were in fact Sanada of Rikkai and had the weight of Mt.Fuji pressing on his shoulder. The drive to the hospital was, however, tense, with Shishido sitting in silence like a statue and refuting any and all attempts at conversation.

 

He was out of the car before it had even rolled to a stop. Atobe rolled his eyes and gracefully excited, directing the driver to park somewhere until they were done. When they walked inside, it was to find Shishido harassing the receptionist, who was looking more and more annoyed. Mukahi grabbed the back of his blazer and yanked him away, much to Shishido’s chagrin, while Atobe attempted to smooth over any damage. He may have flirted a little, but in the end it got them the information they wanted. Jirou merely raised an eyebrow and leisurely threaded an arm through the crook of Atobe’s elbow.

 

As soon as Shishido heard the room number he bolted, ignoring Atobe’s shouting at him to slow down. Thankfully they caught up to him; he was talking to Choutarou’s mother, his cap clutched in his hands. She looked up and smiled warmly at them.

“Oh goodness, you all came.” She clasped he hands in front of her; her pale blue cardigan was slightly too small for her, Atobe noticed, as the sleeves rode up her thing wrists. “He hasn’t had an attack that bad in years. I’m afraid he’s quite embarrassed.”

 

She looked back to Shishido, who still looked vaguely like he might throw up at any given moment. “Don’t worry, Ryou.” She said, putting a hand on his shoulder. _First-name terms?_ Atobe thought to himself. _How interesting._ “The nurse said you’re free to go in. Don’t worry about the IV and mask, it’s just a precaution.” She gestured towards the door.

 

Of course Shishido was the first to go in, Atobe swept in behind him and the rest of the team follow suit, piling into the small room. Choutarou looked up at the in mild alarm, breath fogging the plastic mask over his mouth.

“Y-you guys…” He started speaking but trailed off when Shishido flung himself into the chair beside his bed and glared at him.

 

Nobody spoke for all of a few seconds. Then Shishido smacked him lightly on the back of his head. “You idiot.” He growled, but there was no real venom in his voice. “I told you not to push yourself too hard.” Choutarou looked away unhappily, hand twisting in the blanket over his legs. He wore his regular jersey over the cheap hospital gown and he fiddles absently with one of the cuffs.

 

Atobe rolled his eyes. “What Shishido _means_ , is that he’s happy you’re okay.” He frowned at Shishido. “We all know he has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.”

 

“Hey!” Shishido snapped and Choutarou giggled, mindful of the catheter in the back of his hand.

 

The tension sufficiently broken, they settled into their usual gentle teasing. Jirou took it upon himself to sit up on the bed and poke at the IV needle in Choutarou’s hand until Atobe swatted him away. In the confusion; and somewhere in between Mukahi recounting the time his cousin’s dog had an asthma attack and Jirou falling asleep and tumbling off the bed, Atobe noticed Shishido take hold of Choutarou’s hand with a small smile. Choutarou looked surprised for all of a second before smiling back.

 

By the time lunchtime rolled around, Choutarou was getting drowsy and a nurse was hovering outside the room. One by one, they said their goodbyes, Choutarou blushing deeper and deeper with each one. When Atobe left, Shishido was the only one remaining. Atobe shut the door behind him with a glance to Shishido that said _so help me if you upset him you’ll be on ball pick-up duty for a month_.

 

Choutarou spoke just as Shishido opened his mouth. “Shishido-san, I’m really sorry.” He said, pulling the mask off his face. “I know I should have told you sooner, I just didn’t want you to worry.” He glanced at Shishido out of the corner of one eye and looked away again quickly.

 

“You really _are_ an idiot.” Shishido replied, adjusting his grip on Choutarou’s hand. “I worry about you constantly as it is. I’m not angry you didn’t tell me, though if I find grey hairs in the morning you can pay for the ramen every week instead.” He sounded so serious that Choutarou burst out laughing, although it quickly dissolved into a cough.

 

Shishido waited until he calmed down before speaking again, getting up for the chair and sitting on the bed instead. “It was the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He said, his fingers digging into the back of Choutarou’s hand. “Please, for your own sake it not mine, don’t hide from me if there’s something wrong.”

 

“I won’t.” Choutarou rasped. “I’m sorry.” He said again. Shishido shook his head.

 

“Stop apologising, you idiot. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused for a second, hesitant, then leant in and pressed a kiss to Choutarou’s lips.

 

Choutarou jumped, inhaling sharply through his nose and hand clenching reflexively in the grip Shishido had on it. The kiss was brief but when Shishido pulled back his cheeks were flushed and Choutarou raised his free hand to his mouth, his heart fluttering behind his ribs.

 

“U-um,” Shishido cleared his throat roughly, then took his cap off and plonked it on Choutarou’s head. “I-I’ll come by after school.” He said, a blush high on his cheeks. Choutarou looked up at him from under the rim of the cap. “Hospital food sucks, so I’ll bring you something.” He smiled hesitantly at Choutarou and Choutarou returned it sunnily, allowing Shishido’s hand to slip out of his.

 

He put the mask back on to try and hide his grin as the nurse came in, barely listening to a word she said. His mother smiled knowingly when she came back in a spotted Shishido’s cap on her son’s head.

 

“So~” Mukahi drawled, sidling up to Shishido as they waited for their ride back to school. “You were an awfully long time in there, Shishido. What _were_ you doing?” Shishido blushed and folded his arms.

 

“S-shut up Mukahi.” He muttered.

 

“Your cap’s gone, too!” Mukahi pressed. “Did you loose it?” He asked innocently.

 

“Gakuto,” Oshitari said, laughter in his voice. “As fun as it is, leave him alone.” Mukahi bounced back over to his partner.

 

“You’re no fun, Yuushi.” He pouted.

 

“As long as it doesn’t affect your performance I have no objections.” Atobe said smoothly, Jirou hanging off one arm. He had the look of someone enjoying himself far too much.

 

“Shut _up_!” Shishido yelled, stomping off in the direction of the car park entrance. “Screw all of you, I’m walking back.”

 

“See you back at school, Shishido!” Mukahi called after him in a sing-song voice. “Try not to get lost and end up back here. Although I doubt Ohtori would complain that much.” Shishido gestured rudely at him as he disappeared around the corner and Mukahi doubled over, laughing.

 

“I hardly think you’re one to talk, Mukahi-san.” Hiyoshi said snidely, raising an eyebrow at Mukahi’s arms wrapped around one of Oshitari’s.

 

“Sh-shut up Hiyoshi.” Mukahi stammered, quickly removing his hands. Atobe tried not to laugh at how Oshitari’s face dropped like a kicked puppy’s.

 

As if on cue, his car pulled smoothly to a stop in front of them. “Come on the lot of you.” He commanded imperiously, sliding into the car and dragging Jirou with him. “I won’t be responsible if all of you get detention.”

 

“Do you think you could drive really slowly so I miss the English test in fourth period?” Mukahi asked sweetly.

 

“If it’s Takahashi-sensei’s class then he’ll just make you do it in the next lesson.” Jirou pointed out and Mukahi stuck his tongue out at him.

 

“Drive on.” Atobe sighed. The driver nodded and with a purr of the engine, they pulled away from the kerb. “The answer is no, Mukahi. You should take your studies more seriously.”

 

“ _Oh shut up_ , Atobe.” Mukahi sniped in English.

 

Atobe winced. “ _Your accent is appalling. How does anyone understand you? You sound like a four year-old._ ”

 

Mukahi stared blankly at him then turned to Oshitari. “What did he say?” He grabbed Oshitari’s arm.

 

Oshitari, barely holding back laughter replied. “Why, he was complimenting you on your accent, Gakuto.” Mukahi scowled.

 

“I don’t believe you! Don’t lie to me, Yuushi!” He cried, shaking his partner’s arm.

 

“Oh, _I’m surrounded by imbeciles._ ” Atobe lamented, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

 

“What’s he _saying_?!” Mukahi howled. “Is he insulting me?”

 

Crammed in the corner, Hiyoshi muttered to himself and Jirou started laughing uproariously. Atobe caught the eyes of the driver and raised his eyebrows. His driver returned the look.

 

“Be quiet, all of you, you’re giving me a headache.” He snapped, clicking his fingers.

 

“That trick might work on your legions of fan girls Atobe, but it sure as hell won’t work on _me_.” Mukahi said vehemently.

 

“I rather think Ohtori will enjoy being away from you lot.” Atobe replied succinctly.

 

“Oooh that’s a great idea!” Mukahi rifled around in his school bag. “Let’s text him so he doesn’t feel left out.”

 

Back in the hospital, just as his mother came back in with a cup of tea, Choutarou’s phone suddenly exploded with texts. He scrolled through them, his mother looking over his shoulder.

“Your friends are interesting, Choutarou dear.” She said, sitting down beside his bed.

 

Choutarou smiled absently as he opened a message from Jirou full of ridiculous smiling emoticons. “I wouldn’t change them for the world.”


End file.
